


When Given Willingly

by valrosee



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: M/M, no beta i love to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valrosee/pseuds/valrosee
Summary: When given willinglyHow mercilessA hand can beOn you- Lady Lamb, "The Nothing Part II"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 119





	When Given Willingly

The two of them had been traveling together for about four months now, so inevitably as Geralt had figured, he was bound to get injured and be forced to endure Jaskier fretting over him like a deranged mother hen. He isn’t sure why the bard thought an eight-decades-old witcher needed the help of a two-decades-old human boy, but Jaskier definitely wasn’t letting it go.

“I cannot believe you, Geralt of Rivia." Jaskier scolds, sitting cross-legged digging through Geralt's bag as Geralt sits on a rock in front of him. "I told you that you would need your armor, even for a single wraith, because even as I have not seen many monsters in my life, I know how horrible a monster a wraith can be. And you of all people-- Yes, yes, fine," he waves a dismissive hand at Geralt's pointed look and growl. "You’re not a people. But I can't very well say 'of all witchers' because you're the only one I know, hmm? Regardless, my point still stands, you must be more careful, Geralt.” he pauses, raising an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to show off for me.”

“Shut up. Give me the water skin,” Geralt holds his hand out impatiently and motions for Jaskier to hand it over. He had not been trying to show off. He was simply being lazy, something even a disciplined witcher such as himself was not always immune to. He knows what he did was foolish, he's already been berating himself from the moment they set foot in the woods, he doesn't need to be scolded by a bard.

Jaskier rolls his eyes but passes the Witcher the jug of water. It's not the most ideal thing to rinse the wound with, but he's low on potions at the moment and a strong gin will work just as well once they're back at the inn. Water will do for now, Geralt thinks. He pours it generously over the wound and grunts shortly.

"Cloth," he holds his hand out again and Jaskier gives him the clean cloth with a grimmance.

"That looks pretty nasty, Geralt. Are you sure you don't need a healer? Are you going to be okay?" 

Geralt pauses in dabbing himself dry. Certainly, it isn’t the worst wound he’s ever had but the bite from the errant wraith had taken a sizable chunk of flesh out of his side. He supposes it must look especially horrid to Jaskier - glints of smooth muscle shining through flayed flesh with watery blood slipping slowly down his side and into the waist of his pants.

"No."

"No, you don't need a healer or no, you won't be okay?" 

Geralt looks up and is so taken aback by the obvious concern in Jaskier's eyes that a small grin slips onto his face.

"I'll be fine."

Jaskier makes a sound in half-hearted disagreement but relents a little, to Geralt's relief.

"Bandage." 

Jaskier drops the cloth bandage roll into Geralt's open palm. "Y'know if you'd let me help you this would go much faster."

Jaskier’s concern earns him a grunt and eye roll of dismissal. But as if the world has it out for him this day, he fumbles the bandage and knocks into the sore, oozing flesh with a hiss.

"See? It will be faster if you let me help. Then we will be on our way back to town and our beds and good food and a good night's rest." He crosses his arms over his chest in pure childish defiance, nearly pouting.

It would be almost cute if Geralt wasn't currently bleeding from his side and also if that was something Geralt would actually admit to thinking.

Jaskier holds out an impatient hand, mirroring Geralt's previous give-me-the-thing gesture. Geralt lets out a low frustrated growl and shoves the bandage into Jaskier's hand.

"Fine. Be quick."

Jaskier smiles at him with triumph and shifts to his knees to scoot closer to Geralt and now that he's in Geralt's space he realizes this is the closest he's ever been to the bard. Lining up the bandage, Jaskier has to lean in, his hair almost tickling Geralt's nose. His scent is suddenly in Geralt's throat as he takes a sharp inhale when the bandage presses to his open wound. Jaskier smells like perfume, slightly, and floral teas, and the forest floor where they often sleep, and something a little deep and musky... 

Geralt belatedly realizes it’s his own scent.

The thought sends a zap of lightning up his spine at the same time Jaskier leans in further, nearly wrapping his arms around Geralt in a hug to reach the bandage as he winds it around his middle.

Geralt is frozen in place. He barely dares to breathe for fear of inhaling more of Jaskier's scent that is so blatantly mixed with his own. It leaves him dizzy for reasons he can't explain.

Thankfully Jaskier keeps to his word and finishes bandaging Geralt quickly (though it feels like an eternity), and leans back on his heels to admire his handiwork. Geralt breathes a sigh of relief to have the usual amount of space restored between them.

"There, all done. Now let's get you on Roach so we can leave, yes?" He stands and grabs Geralt's bag before he can reply and walks to Roach who whickers at him. "Are you as ready to leave as I am? I bet you're looking forward to some hay, or oats, or maybe an apple. Can I give her an apple later?" He turns to address Geralt who is watching the exchange unfold in front of him with unfamiliar warmth blooming in his chest. Jaskier had been growing more confident around Roach, and Roach more comfortable around him. Which was a little unusual for the horse, considering Roach was rarely ever less than standoffish with anyone but Geralt, but somehow his best travel companion had become fond of his new one. 

“Geralt?”

Oh, right, he’s staring. Shaking himself from his inner monologue, Geralt stands with a wince and hopes that Jaskier doesn’t notice his poorly concealed limp as he makes his way to Roach whom he mounts with little difficulty but not little pain and a stilted grunt escapes him as he settles. This Jaskier seems to notice but thankfully says nothing.

Jaskier gives Geralt’s knee a pat and begins walking in the direction of the town. “Onwards, noble steed, to carry your foolishly injured witcher to town.” he throws over his shoulder.

What a little shit.

But he had turned out to be a helpful little shit… and Geralt is tired and he doesn’t want to wait much longer to get back to the inn.

He pulls Roach’s reins and turns her to walk in the opposite direction.

“Jaskier,” he calls. Jaskier turns around with a flourish.

“Yes, Geralt-” he stops. “What, why did- why are you over there?”

“Come here.” 

Jaskier frowns but obeys him and when he’s at Geralt’s side, Geralt points to the boulder he’s parked Roach next to. “Use that,” he says gruffly.

“The… Rock? For wh-” Jaskier’s eyes light up as realization dawns on his face and Geralt is starting to regret his decision. “Oho! Geralt of Rivia is going to let me, a humble bard, mount his mighty-”

“Get up or shut up, Jaskier.” Geralt growls

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to be so sour!”

Jaskier steps up onto the rock and with a small jump, swings his leg over Roach with surprising ease. As he settles Geralt is increasingly relieved for the small space between the end of the saddle and where Jaskier sits just behind it. He nudges Roach into movement and finally, they begin their journey back.

+++

With a heavy sigh Geralt dips slowly into a rickety corner chair and scrubs at his face. He's so damn tired. That job did not have to be as exhausting as it was and yet he had made it made so just because he had wanted to.... What exactly? Show off, as Jaskier had put it? Fuck. He grabs the bottle of gin at his feet and takes a deep swig before removing the bandage and pouring it over his wound.

His loud hiss makes Jaskier jump from across the room.

“Gods, Geralt what are you doing?” In a second, Jaskier is by his side again, concern muddling his soft features in the candlelight. Geralt really wants him to stop looking at him like that.

“Cleaning it.”

“Wh- but you already did that? And I bandaged you up so nicely too!”

“Water’s not good enough. Needs to be able to kill infection.”

“Oh,” Jaskier pauses. “What about- do you need to stitch it?”

“Yes,” Geralt grabs his bag from the floor and digs out a needle and thick thread. His hands absolutely do not shake as he pushes the thread through the eye of the sharp, hooked needle, and continues to not shake as he holds the needle to his flesh. What is wrong with him? Why is he acting like such a fool just because Jaskier is staring at him like he might break? He won’t break, he’s a witcher not a porcelain figure. He’s done this countless times before, he doesn’t need an inexperienced bard to look after him.

“Wait, Geralt,” Jaskier stops him just before he’s about to plunge the needle in. “I- can I- I’d like to help, more, if you’ll let me.” His tone is almost sheepish now, unlike in the forest where he had been bold and certain about his ability to help.

Geralt considers. “You can sew?” he raises an eyebrow.

“My mum taught me some things,” he shrugs with a timid smile. “And you seem tired, Geralt. You would probably do a horrible job of it right now with the way you look.”

Ah, there’s the attitude, Geralt thinks dryly. But he is tired. The fight had gone on longer than it should have, he had a big hole in his side, and he had no more potions to increase his stamina. Jaskier touching him had also unexpectedly taken a lot of strength out of him for some ungodly reason and if he didn’t have to experience that again, he’d rather avoid it. 

But the way Jaskier is looking at him may very well be breaking him in a different way.

He relents, holding the needle out silently.

Jaskier nods in determination and takes it, his finger brushing Geralt’s. And once again the bard is in his space, his scent floating in the centimeters between them like a thin veil suspended so precariously a gentle breeze could knock it down. 

The breeze comes and the veil falls when Jaskier's nimble fingers land softly on Geralt's side and leave searing tracks around the perimeter of the gash as he lightly pinches the edges together to see where the flesh will close best. His touch is relentless, cruel almost, in his tenderness and concern and Geralt is so horribly overwhelmed in all his senses. Jaskier's scent mixed with his own, Jaskier's chestnut brown hair with flecks of gold, Jaskier's unfairly blue eyes boring new holes into Geralt's skin, Jaskier's surprisingly capable hands, Jaskier's wholehearted attention and compassion that Geralt doesn't deserve.

His stomach twists. He wants to tell the bard to stop but Jaskier takes a deep breath and whispers "Alright, hold on" and the needle is stabbing into his skin. Geralt almost sighs in relief at the welcomed distraction to his frazzled senses. At least this pain is familiar.

They both sit in silence for several minutes, Jaskier concentrating on making neat even stitches and Geralt concentrating on not looking at Jaskier. Eventually he decides to chance a peek and his stomach does another odd flip when he sees the utter focus on Jaskier's face. He looks like he does when he’s writing a particularly difficult song - brows pinched up, full lips drawn into a thin line and the dull glow of the candlelight makes him look ethereal. Geralt’s heart squeezes in his chest and he has the sudden urge to run his fingers through Jaskier’s impossibly soft looking hair. And honestly? He is so fucking done with his body reacting this way. Why is this happening at such a simple touch? Simple kindness? He hates himself for the weakness of it. He turns his eyes away again.

The time passes again like hours when it’s been only minutes, but when Jaskier finishes his stitching and pulls away, Geralt is left feeling empty somehow.

“What do you think? Not bad, if I do say so myself,” Jaskier smiles, running a finger lightly over the raised flesh, causing Geralt to jump slightly. 

“Hm,” he grunts, his throat still feels gelled closed by Jaskier’s scent. 

Jaskier stands, but leans over at the waist, “You’re welcome, Geralt,” he says with a cheeky grin. Geralt glares up at him, hums again, and begins to pack away his things. 

Once Jaskier has turned away, Geralt inspects the bard’s work and, well, he’d done a surprisingly good job. Every knot tied carefully and neatly and for the millionth time that day, Geralt’s chest is on fire with a merciless feeling. 

“Jaskier,” he really doesn’t mean for his voice to be so soft. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> first fic here and for the fandom! please be gentle with me lmao


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